


The Spark is the Matter

by Pteropoda (SilentP)



Series: Winter Fic Exchanges! [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Body Swap, Brainstorm Did It, Established Relationship, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 09:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3243998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentP/pseuds/Pteropoda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An accident throws Rodimus out of his frame, and his crew- Especially Magnus- into disarray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spark is the Matter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [parallelpie](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=parallelpie).



> Written as a part of the [ big gay robot secret santa.](http://biggayrobotchristmas.tumblr.com/) for Parallelpie. The whole thing was a lot of fun, and there were a ton of amazing gifts submitted! Everyone should check it out.

Rodimus knew something was wrong when he came online with diagnostics already running. Groaning, he cancelled all of them—he didn’t need to see what his frame would already be telling him—and began to hunt through his memory cache for the files from last night. Whatever he did to put his frame in such a state, it must have been memorable.

Only, as he searched through his short term storage, the most recent thing he could recall was taking a seat in Swerve’s bar and calling out for a drink. Nothing harmful there- he had intended to do a little socializing and not much more, before heading off to the bridge. Had someone convinced him to drink Nightmare Fuel? Had someone _slipped_ him nightmare fuel? Had a bar fight broken out? He didn’t get any further in his wondering, because someone started shaking his frame, apparently irritated by how long it was taking him to online his optics.

“All right, all right,” Rodimus grumbled, swatting at the hand still tugging insistently at his pauldron. “I geddit, ‘m up, stop already.” He finally brought his optics online, and immediately found his vision filled with blaring warnings, and angry complaining from his systems at having cancelled the diagnostics. His entire frame felt shaky.

He swept them all away, and cycled his optics as he stared up at… himself?

He stared, but the image greeting him refused to change, and after only a moment the strange copy was shoving at him again. “Get up,” it grumbled. Rodimus stared, taken aback by the sound. It sounded weird, more like when someone played a recording of him than his actual voice.

“Captain.” The sound of a familiar voice was enough to jolt Rodimus’s attention away from the copy, and he tore his optics away to find the solemn face of Ultra Magnus leaning over him. “Captain, are you all right?”

Rodimus cycled his optics in baffled surprise as the blur of red and blue plating came into focus. He was lying on the floor, he realized, with the fake him leaning over him from one side, and Ultra Magnus from the other. He could recognize the tiles of the Lost Light’s ceiling beyond their helms, and the bright glare of fluorescent lighting.

“Rodimus, for the last time, get up,” said the impostor. Stung into movement, Rodimus began to prop himself upright, though he nearly fell back over in the process. His entire chassis felt heavier than usual, and his plating ground together in odd places as he hauled himself up.

“What’s going on?” he asked, but his voice came out strangely, deeper and rougher than he was used to, and he coughed in an attempt to reset it. A look around had him squinting in surprise. This wasn’t Swerve’s, as he had first anticipated, or even in his quarters. This looked like… Brainstorm’s lab? And in fact, there was Brainstorm in one corner, looking rather singed and apparently being lectured by Perceptor while a bemused-looking Drift looked on. As Rodimus watched, Drift peeked over in their direction, then quickly glanced away again.

“Oh, for-“ the impostor growled. “Half a dozen diagnostics and he doesn’t look at a single one.” They exchanged glares for a moment longer before the fake huffed and threw up its servos. “Just look at yourself!”

“Hey, you-“ Rodimus started, incensed- looking like him was no excuse to act like _that_ \- but the sight of his hand brought the thought to a crashing halt.

He was red and white. He held his arm out in front of him, and looked down his body, and his entire frame was red and white. Worse than red and white, in fact. Not only was his paint a ruin, his entire frame had been desecrated, all his sleek lines and curving panels replaced with boxy shapes and heavy parts. His spoilers were gone, his fingers felt like they had too many parts, and his chestplates actually felt retractable. It was, he realized with a distant, dawning horror, rather familiar. In fact, he looked a bit like…

“Why am I Ratchet?” he shrieked. His vocalizer squeaked embarrassingly halfway through, and the fake-him winced. Rodimus didn’t spare him any attention. Instead, he started feeling along the seams of the armor, desperate to pull it off. Surely they hadn’t actually modified his frame while he was knocked out, had they? “Ha ha, very funny guys, now get it off me. Magnus, help me with this!”

Ultra Magnus’s large hands reached out for his, prying them away from the armor with a concentrated effort. “Captain,” he rumbled, and Rodimus stilled. Magnus usually had the kind of voice that sounded irritated no matter what you said to him, had ever since Rodimus had known him, but there was an edge to it now that Rodimus hadn’t heard before.

When he seemed assured that Rodimus wouldn’t immediately reach for his plating again, Ultra Magnus leaned back, letting Rodimus go so abruptly that he nearly overbalanced. Magnus stiffened up in that way he had when he thought he was overstepping his authority, but the not-Rodimus beside him didn’t so much as twitch.

“There was… something of an incident,” Ultra Magnus said. Now that he had Rodimus’s attention, his voice had gone back to its usual stiff tone, and Rodimus clung to that, focusing on it to push back the alarm. When Ultra Magnus talked like that, he had a plan. It might be a silly one, but it was a plan, and Rodimus realized he could really use one right about now.

Ultra Magnus harrumphed. “Approximately thirty minutes ago, an alert from Brainstorm’s lab went off. You, accompanied by Ratchet, left to investigate the potential for damage to Brainstorm and quite possibly the ship. Shortly thereafter, Perceptor called myself and Drift to the labs, as he had come in to find both of you unconscious on the floor. Ratchet… awoke shorly after.”

“Wait. Ratchet?” Rodimus interrupted, staring at his own frame. “That’s _you?”_

“What clued you in?” the CMO said dryly, and Rodimus was treated to the sight of his own frame scowling spectacularly. Rodimus stared in fascination. “Rodimus, do you remember anything about arriving in Brainstorm’s lab?”

Rodimus shook his helm. “Nothing since going to Swerve’s for a drink,” he said. “I saw you there, but there’s nothing about an alarm, or even leaving.”

Ratchet muttered a curse. “You too, then. Something about the process must have removed immediate memories. All right. I need you to pull up those diagnostics you ignored and tell me what they say.”

“Hey,” Rodimus started to say, but Ratchet gave him a look that could strip bolts. Cowed, Rodimus re-opened all of the alerts he had dismissed from his HUD at first. He hadn’t thought he could glare that scarily, but apparently Ratchet’s ire came through even when his faceplates looked like Rodimus’s.

There were a _lot_ of them, more than Rodimus recalled seeing after even a major injury. Even worse, as he started to look through them, half of them didn’t make any sense.

“Read them out,” not-him insisted.

Rodimus did, and the impostor frowned more and more as he worked his way through the stack.

Ratchet swore again, more violently, when Rodimus finished, then raised his voice. “Congratulations, Brainstorm. I don’t know how you did it, but you managed to switch sparks and processors, and nothing else, into a completely different frame.”

In the corner, Brainstorm peeked around Perceptor with wide optics. “Really?” He piped up. “Huh. That’s not what it was supposed to do at all.”

“And what, precisely, was it intended to do?” Perceptor said, in the tones of someone gearing up to give a truly impressive lecture. Rodimus promptly tuned them out. He was still absorbing Ratchet’s statement. _Switched frames?_ It seemed impossible to believe, and yet here he was, looking for all the world like the Autobot CMO, with his own frame staring at him and grouching in true Ratchet fashion. It was _surreal._

“Wow,” Rodimus said, looking over Ratchet’s (now his) frame again. Yep, just as bulky and boxy the second time around. An experimental twist of his arm revealed that it wouldn’t move even half as much as his usually did. Maybe Ratchet didn’t need it, but Rodimus felt stiff and ungainly. “Okay, so now that I’m awake, we can fire it up and fix it, right?”

Ultra Magnus had a look on his faceplates like someone had just spilled paint everywhere right before his optics. “Unfortunately-“ he began.

“Weeeeell,” Brainstorm interrupted, sticking to his corner, “The reason you were down here in the first place is because was because the alarm going off… and it may just have been the about the warp flux field I was making… and that may possibly have malfunctioned enough to switch out your sparks and all. The problem there being…”

“What Brainstorm means to say is that he is entirely ignorant to how his device malfunctioned to cause such a result, and furthermore, because it experienced a rather catastrophic failure only moments after affecting the change in you both, he cannot work from the device to discover what caused it to have such a specific teleporting effect in the first place,” Perceptor said. There was an edge to his voice, and Rodimus found himself well and truly impressed. It took a lot to get Perceptor that noticeably irritated, and Brainstorm had apparently managed it with ease.

Drift, standing next to him, looked torn between amusement and concern. “It exploded,” Drift he supplied.

“As I said,” Perceptor snapped. “The end result, of course, is that there is no existing method of… ‘zapping you back,’ as it were.”

Rodimus pressed a servo to his faceplate and barely hid a wince when his fingers bumped into the unfamiliar shape of his nasal ridge. “Okay, okay. So we can’t just switch back. What about other options? You can rebuild it, right? Or,” Rodimus turned to Ratchet, inspiration budding. “Can’t we just remove our spark chambers and processors and switch them back?”

“Absolutely not!” Ratchet protested. “First Aid and Ambulon are in no way qualified to perform such a delicate procedure. Even if we had the facilities onboard to allow it- which we don’t.”

“All right, no surgery,” Rodimus sighed, racking his processor. This felt like something out of a bad recharge flux, and yet he could feel his- Ratchet’s- systems pulsing steadily, and the warnings were still sitting there, stark and heavy, in his HUD. He reached out blindly, and his free hand settled on Ultra Magnus’s. He gripped it tightly.

“Perceptor? Brainstorm? How long to rebuild this thing?”

“Two days, I have the plans-“ Brainstorm started to say, but Perceptor _glared_ and he wilted.

“A week, at the very least,” Perceptor said firmly. “My apologies, Captain, but it will take that long to review the plans and ensure that nothing will go wrong in transferring you both back to the proper frame, even if we set aside all other projects during that time.”

Rodimus gritted his dentae. A week or more, stuck in Ratchet’s stiff, utilitarian frame? He didn’t like the thought, but even if he pushed for results to happen sooner, he got the feeling that Ratchet would refuse. Unbidden, his processor came up with images of how teleporting his spark chamber out of his frame and into another one could go wrong.

“All right,” Rodimus said, and carefully pushed himself to his pedes. Balancing was easier than he’d expected. “Just great. Percy, Brainstorm, get on it. Drift, Magnus, let’s figure out how to let the crew know. Ratchet… I don’t know, do we have a time limit on this? We’re not going to die horribly before the week is up, right?”

Ratchet shifted, pushing himself up onto his own feet. Rodimus stared. He’d never realized how small he looked in comparison to bulkier mechs like Magnus and Ratchet. It was… well. Did it count as ogling if it was his own frame?

Ratchet was apparently ignoring his staring in favor of scowling. “Without my medical sensors and scans, I can’t make much of an estimate right now, but it seems unlikely,” he said. “At most, I estimate some feelings of discomfort and frame dysphoria. Although this is extreme in method, it’s rather similar to a frame rebuild. Unless something goes drastically wrong, it will be a bit awkward, nothing more.”

‘A bit awkward’ sounded like an understatement, Rodimus thought, taking a final glance over his frame. He shook his helm. “C’mon, let’s get to it.”

“Yes, sir,” they all responded, but he could see the hesitation, and the glances that they all cast between him and Ratchet. He resisted the urge to sigh yet again. This was going to be a long week.

__

The announcement happened later that day, the moment they could gather most of the crew together to listen. Ultra Magnus had made the main part of it, with Drift standing nearby and Ratchet and Rodimus only speaking long enough to confirm.

The crew had reacted reasonably well, given the circumstances. There was a lot of staring and a lot of whispering, but other than that everyone had seemed to take the explanation of ‘Brainstorm did it’ (shortened from a rather rambling diatribe from Perceptor by Skids, who looked torn between laughing and making his way down to Swerve’s) in stride.

Just another weirdly average day on the Lost Light- only don’t get yourself scrapped, because the medic can’t fix you up right now. Even Whirl had seemed to be sobered by that particular revelation.

The solemn mood, however, had only lasted as long as it took for Ultra Magnus to stop talking. As soon as the explanations were concluded, Swerve had started wondering aloud if it could get any weirder than this. It had sparked a debate of who the weirdest switch on the Ark would be. From what he’d been able to overhear from up on the platform where the officers usually stood, votes were currently tied between Cyclonus and Tailgate, and Rung and Whirl.

Rodimus didn’t particularly care to wait and find out what the result of that little debate would be. Instead, he’d slipped away, out the door and on his way through the halls. At first he’d been surprised about the ease with which he’d gotten away, but then he remembered; Ratchet’s frame. Ratchet, for all that he was a big personality among the Autobots, didn’t particularly stand out frame-wise. He was a quintessential medic build, nothing flashy to him whatsoever, nothing like Rodimus’s speedster alt mode or his flame decals.

Until everyone got used to this, Rodimus would probably go unnoticed plenty more times. He wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed, or relieved.

Not that it mattered, he told himself. In a week, everything would be back to normal, and he wouldn’t have to worry about Ratchet’s boring frame ever again. In the meantime, there was plenty to do. He could already think of about a half-dozen ways to take advantage of the Lost Light’s unfailing awe of Ratchet’s reputation. Maybe he’d be able to get a bet going with Drift about how many times he’d be able to make a mech flinch just by using Ratchet’s angry voice.

His gleeful plotting lasted him all the way to his office, but he was drawn to an abrupt halt right outside of the door. Standing in front of it, stiff as a statue, was Ultra Magnus.

“Magnus, hey,” Rodimus called out. His first jogging step made his tension cables creak, and Rodimus grimaced and slowed to a walk. He couldn’t even run the way he was used to.

Ultra Magnus was looking at him now, but he remained silent.

“Magnus? C’mon, talk to me here,” Rodimus said. Once he was in range, he reached out to rest a hand at Magnus’s elbow.

He moved then, pulling back away from Rodimus’s hand. When Rodimus reached out again, Magnus grabbed his hand and pulled it away from his chassis.

“What-“ Rodimus started, indignant, but Magnus cut him off.

“Captain, I must discourage you from engaging in inappropriate behavior,” he said stiffly. Rodimus shifted, taking advantage of Ratchet’s height to attempt to look into Magnus’s optics, but his second seemed determined not to meet his gaze. “Touching you in this frame would be a breach of protocol, and a violation of a crew member’s rights.”

Rodimus could only stare for a moment, baffled. “What does that have anything to do with me touching you? If you don’t want me to, just _say_ so.” Understanding struck for a moment, and he huffed. “I know Ratchet’s just a box on wheels, okay, trust me, I don’t want to have the mental image of him clanging anyone either,” Magnus winced at the crude term, but Rodimus plowed right on, “but you don’t even want me touching you at all in his frame? C’mon.”

Magnus’s shoulders hunched, and again, he refused to meet Rodimus’s optics. “This frame is Ratchet’s. As such, it would be inappropriate for me to touch it in a way he would not approve of-“

“Oh, please.” Rodimus interrupted, indignant. “That’s a load of slag. It’s my frame as long as I have it, and as long as I don’t bust it up, I doubt Ratchet’ll care what I get up to in it. I can probably get him to give it to me in writing. ‘I, Ratchet, do consent to letting Rodimus use my frame for touching people.’ It’d take half a minute after the lecture for wasting his time.”

If anything, Magnus hunched up further. Rodimus fell silent, irritation slowly morphing to worry as Magnus remained stiff and immovable. “I can’t read minds, you know,” he said eventually. “You have to tell me what’s going on in there.”

It took a while for Magnus to find his voice. “The switch,” he started finally, voice heavy, “has been rather disconcerting. It is an irrational reaction, particularly with evidence that no damage has come to either of you. With that knowledge available, reassuring myself of your… unharmed state, while you are in Ratchet’s frame, would be improper. It is only a week until you will be restored. I should be able to wait that long.”

The pieces suddenly fell into place. Magnus, Rodimus recalled now, had been stiff and remote even in Brainstorm’s lab. He’d been worried. But Rodimus had been too caught up in the strangeness of the transplant to notice. Hearing Ratchet wake up in his frame must have sounded like insanity, until Ratchet actually managed to convince him of what happened. He would have been doubtful too, if he wasn’t the one living it.

This time, when he reached out for Magnus’s arm, the other mech didn’t pull away. “I know a way you won’t have to worry about,” he said. When Magnus finally looked at him, puzzlement written across his faceplates, Rodimus simply grinned and steered him into the office.

Once they were both inside and the door closed behind them, Rodimus turned to Ultra Magnus. He pulled a draught of air through his vents, then focused on the protocols that controlled Ratchet’s frame. There were a lot more transformation sequences than he was used to. It made sense, for Ratchet had moving parts and medical equipment tucked into his frame to allow him to tend to mechs even when they weren’t in medbay. It took a while of hunting, but he eventually found the right sequence and activated it.

Magnus made a sharp sound of alarm when Rodimus’s chestplates began folding back. “Rodimus!” he said. His entire frame went tense, as though he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to step forward, or back.

Rodimus grinned at hearing Magnus finally say his name. He wasn’t about to let Magnus’s reaction stop him now. “You wanted to make sure it’s still me, didn’t you?” he asked, In Ratchet’s rough voice, it was hard to hear any of the apprehension he felt, and that, at least, he was thankful for. “It’s not Ratchet’s spark to expose, so you don’t have to worry about protocols.”

“I…” Magnus didn’t seem to be able to pull his eyes away from Rodimus’s spark chamber. “No. I do not.” Carefully, he reached forward, as though Rodimus were made of spun glass, even with Ratchet’s sturdy frame, and laid his hand over Rodimus’s open chest, hiding his spark chamber from view.

It felt strange, having a hand covering his spark, rather than his own plating. Strange, but not bad, Rodimus decided, looking down at Magnus’s servos, and the armor. He was exposed, and vulnerable, but it didn’t scare him at all. Under Magnus’s hand, his spark was safe.


End file.
